_________
Lucina
I tried desperately to concentrate on what was being said, but my thoughts kept drifting, leaving me feeling dazed and uneasy. "Lucina?" a voice called, pulling me back.
"Y-yes?! I'm listening!" I stammered, slightly startled. My heart was still racing.
A man with long dark hair, who had been reading a document, set it down deliberately. "Titi has already received 30 stars," he announced, his tone calm but firm. My eyes widened at the number, the significance hitting me immediately.
He continued, explaining the system carefully. "I'll give you two stars every time you answer all the questions correctly. You'll earn an extra star each time you do well in your homework." I nodded, trying to absorb every word, but my mind felt as though it were swimming in a haze.
As the conversation moved on, I fidgeted in my chair, my chest tightening. He noticed immediately. "What is it now?" he asked, his sharp gaze studying me. My hands twitched nervously.
"Titi, could you go to the library and grab the next volume of this," he requested, setting his book down, pointing toward a stack. I obeyed, my legs carrying me almost automatically, my thoughts still spinning.
Once we were alone, his expression softened, and he leaned in slightly. My eyes welled up, unable to hold back the flood of emotions. "What's wrong? Don't cry. Just tell me," he urged gently, his voice almost coaxing.
"Did he get angry? Or hit you?" His serious tone made my stomach twist. I felt a rush of embarrassment and frustration. Quickly, I put a hand to my flushed face and explained, "I-It's only because he's nearing his potent period. He's not been feeling well. That's why he's in a bad mood."
But he wasn't convinced. He muttered under his breath, dismissive and critical, "His emotions… like a child."
That was the last straw. Anger flared within me, and I snapped, unable to stand him insulting the person I cared for. "Don't talk badly about him!" I exclaimed, my voice trembling but sharp.
He raised an eyebrow, a deep frown forming on his face. "You're getting angry at me even though I'm taking your side?" he challenged, his eyes locking onto mine, testing me.
---
I had flared up, defending him because my heart couldn't bear the criticism. "Don't talk badly about him!" I'd shouted, feeling the man across from me, Gillai, recoil slightly.
"You're getting angry at me even though I'm taking your side?" Gillai asked, his expression showing genuine hurt.
I hurriedly tried to explain my beloved's volatile behavior. "I-It's only because he's nearing his potent period. He's not been feeling well. That's why he's in a bad mood," I insisted, my cheeks burning with a mix of frustration and embarrassment.
But Gillai remained firm. "Then don't see him for a while. Stay away from him," he commanded. That order broke my heart. My chest tightened, and my eyes welled up. "What am I supposed to do when I miss him?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
Seeing my distress, Gillai offered a compromise. "Write him a letter," he suggested, reaching for a quill and parchment. "You don't have to see him to talk to him."
I felt a small spark of hope and agreed, a shy smile returning as I picked up the quill. "That's right. It will be a good way to practice your writing as well," Gillai added, watching me carefully.
When I finished writing, a nervous flush crept up my neck. I looked up at Gillai, hesitating. "C-Could you look over my writing as well, Gillai!?" I asked tentatively.
"Of course," he replied, taking the parchment. After reading it, he simply laughed, shaking his head. "No. You did a good job. Just send it as is." He carefully rolled up the letter for me.
"Really? Do you think Hakan will like it?" I asked, my heart fluttering. A sweet, dark-haired girl named Titi, standing nearby, nodded enthusiastically. "Great job, Lucina!" she affirmed, making my heart lift just a little.
Meanwhile, elsewhere, a man with fiery tattoos was speaking to the King, trying to explain the situation. "Are you sure?" the King asked the shaman, who nodded solemnly.
"As your fire energy grows stronger, it will become increasingly difficult to keep your emotions in check, especially when you're spending time with someone you have strong feelings for," the shaman explained. He offered reassurance. "The former King also struggled a lot during his potent period after he met Giaret. It's natural for you to feel this way, so don't worry too much, Your Majesty."
"Is there anything else you need?" the shaman asked.
"No, I'm fine. You may leave," the King replied, his voice calm but thoughtful.
I knew how much Hakan was struggling, and now I had a new challenge—to express my feelings without the comfort of being physically near him. I clutched the rolled-up letter tightly, hoping that my words would reach his heart and carry a piece of me to him.
The shaman had just left, reassuring me that the volatile fire in my blood was natural during my potent period, something even my father, the former King, had struggled with. "I'm fine. You may leave," I'd dismissed him, brushing off his concern with practiced calm.
Then, the messenger stepped forward. "Your Majesty," she bowed, holding out a rolled-up scroll. "Lucina asked me to pass this on to you."
A letter. My chest tightened. I remembered how distraught Lucina had been when Gillai ordered her to stay away, her voice breaking as she asked, "What am I supposed to do when I miss him?" Gillai, ever the pragmatist, had told her, "Write him a letter," suggesting it was a good way to practice her writing.
I took the scroll, feeling a nervous excitement. "She did?" I asked, my voice betraying a flicker of hope. I dismissed the messenger. "I bid you good night, Your Majesty." "Thank you," I replied, rolling my eyes slightly at the formality even in my own chambers.
I unrolled the parchment. The words leapt at me in a sprawling, energetic script. I tried to read the first line, but the letters seemed to swim before my eyes.
"Huh?" I muttered, leaning closer. I tried to focus, but I couldn't make out the shapes. "What does this even say? I can't read her writing..." My own voice echoed in my head as I tried to decipher the bizarre formations.
I focused on a particular phrase. "The love she fell?" I tried. Then correcting myself, "Oh, does she mean 'The love she feels'?"
I moved to another part of the script, puzzling over the words. "Cure love...?" I muttered, confused. Then, with some effort, a reasonable guess emerged. "Oh, I think she means pure love." I couldn't help but chuckle. "I-Is she trying to say that her love for me is overflowing?"
A genuine, rare laugh burst out of me—PFFFT. I remembered Gillai's teasing praise. "Haha! Lucina, you have the best handwriting in the whole kingdom." It had been lighthearted, but now it made me smile at her earnestness.
Despite the difficult writing, the underlying message was clear: she was thinking of me. "She drinks... of me every night?" I read again, correcting myself. "Oh, she thinks of me every night." A nearby candle flickered as the heat in the room intensified, crackling. "And what goes through her head when she thinks of me?" I asked myself, my pulse quickening.
But as I concentrated on the final, most emotional part of the letter, the negative thoughts that my power conjured began to surface. The words on the page twisted in my mind, warping her sweet intentions into monstrous accusations. I saw her face, contorted by dark energy, and phantom voices screamed in my ears: "I'M LYING WHEN I SAY I LOVE YOU. I HATE YOU AND WISH YOU WOULD DIE." "EVEN YOUR MOTHER... COULD NEVER LOVE SOMEONE LIKE YOU."
My chest pounded violently—BA-BUMP, BA-BUMP. I knew the darkness was lying, twisting her pure words, but the images and voices felt terrifyingly real. I had to get the letter away from me before it consumed me completely.
_______
Hakan
My heart hammered—BA-BUMP, BA-BUMP—as the dark energy warped Lucina's genuine words into poisoned accusations. Phantom voices shrieked: "I HATE YOU AND WISH YOU WOULD DIE. EVEN YOUR MOTHER... COULD NEVER LOVE SOMEONE LIKE YOU." "IF YOU HADN'T BEEN BORN, THEN ADAR WOULD'VE LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER WITH RAIKAN."
I clamped my hand over my face, desperate to shut out the hideous noise, sweating and panting heavily. "HAAAAAA!" I roared, slipping toward a pure, destructive rage. "SILENCE! SHUT UP!" I threw the parchment away as if it burned my skin. RIP! RIP! RIP! The sound of tearing was a frantic release.
The noise drew my guards. The door burst open—BURST!—and two of my shirtless, muscular guards rushed in, spears in hand. "STOP IT! THAT'S ENOUGH!" one yelled, seeing my distress.
The other asked, confused and worried, "IS SOMETHING WRONG, YOUR MAJESTY?"
I clutched my head, collapsing to the ground from the throne, desperately trying to regain control. Huff, huff, huff. My body shook uncontrollably.
Another guard, sensing the danger, rushed in. "YOUR MAJESTY...? Are you okay? Is something wrong?" he asked, flinching at the raw intensity radiating from me.
The first guard, staring at the scattered, torn pieces of parchment—the remnants of Lucina's effort—asked cautiously, "IS THAT A LETTER? Briefly, that's all."
I picked up one of the torn pieces, staring at the indecipherable script that had become a medium for my darkest thoughts. "THAT'S STRANGE," I mumbled, wiping sweat from my brow. The madness began to recede, leaving me exhausted and ashamed.
Then it clicked. Lucina had asked Gillai, "C-Could you look over my writing as well, Gillai!?" And he had laughed, rolling up the letter for her. "NO. YOU DID A GOOD JOB. JUST SEND IT AS IS," he'd joked.
I looked at the guard who had delivered the letter. "Didn't Gillai check the letter..." I trailed off, realizing the severity of the mistake. Gillai knew the true state of Lucina's writing and should have ensured it was legible—or perhaps even written by someone else—knowing the chaos I was in.
I was utterly spent. The letter, meant to be a comforting bridge, had nearly destroyed me. I needed to focus on my recovery, control my fire energy, and survive this potent period without hurting anyone, especially Lucina.
The thick, stifling heat of the royal chamber was suddenly pierced by a cold wave of dread. I stood rigid, my spear clutched tight, watching as my King's dark features contorted in a silent, agonizing struggle.
"Your Majesty...?" I managed, my voice a rough whisper. His hand was pressed to his temple, his long fingers almost white against the rich, dark skin. A subtle tremor ran through his body, and I could see the glint of sweat on his brow. The sheer effort he exerted to contain whatever was happening was palpable.
FLINCH
"Are you okay? Is something wrong?" I stepped forward, concern overriding the protocol that demanded I simply stand guard.
Then, the dam broke.
A torrent of deep purple energy seemed to BURST from him, a raw, terrifying power that crackled and sent the air reeling. The sound was not just a shout; it was a demonic roar, ripping through the gilded silence of the throne room.
AAAAAAAH!
His eyes snapped open, blazing with an unfamiliar madness. I saw him move with impossible speed, his hands seizing the heavy, embossed parchment that had just been delivered.
"SILENCE!" he roared, his voice echoing off the columns. The guards near me instinctively recoiled, their own spears trembling.
RIP RIP
With brutal, unrestrained strength, he tore the document to shreds. The parchment, once a neatly folded seal of communication, became flying strips of white.
"SHUT UP!"
He was on his knees now, hunched over, his hands buried in his dark, flowing hair. His breath came in ragged gasps—HUFF HUFF—the sound of a man fighting a battle within his own soul. The shredded letter scattered around the throne, a pathetic confetti of broken words. He had been fine moments ago, but that letter... it had broken him.
"STOP IT! THAT'S ENOUGH!" the Head Guard cried out, finally finding his voice, though his chest heaved with terror. Another guard next to me, visibly shaken, managed to ask, "Is something wrong, Your Majesty?"
I kept my eye on him, waiting for him to rise, waiting for the fury to pass, but he simply sat there, trembling. My gaze drifted to the floor, to the tiny, tattered scraps. Among them was what looked like a thin, braided cord—a ribbon or perhaps a broken sandal strap. It was just another piece of the mess, yet it felt significant.
I knelt quickly, my movement swift and silent, clearing the largest strips of paper.
"Is that a letter?" I asked, looking up at the Head Guard, who was still trying to compose himself.
The King finally moved, his hand slowly reaching out and picking up one of the remaining, small fragments. He held it up to the light, his dark eyes narrowed, a look of profound, unsettling confusion washing over his face.
"That's strange," he murmured. The brief storm had passed, leaving only a dark, heavy stillness.
My mind raced, connecting the moments. He had barely glanced at it before the outburst. "Didn't Gillai check the letter..."
The messenger must have gotten past the usual scrutiny. This wasn't some innocuous court missive. It was a poison, a trigger.
I looked at the King, then down at the ruined document. What could possibly hold such power?
The name was a whisper in the silent air: "...that Lucina wrote for me?"
I gripped my spear tighter. I needed to find out what in the world she wrote. Because this wasn't a king, calm and commanding, that I served right now—it was a man haunted, and a mere piece of paper had unleashed the darkness inside.